


Steve Rogers: Reverse Wingman

by AllonsyHelen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Everyone, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Great Depression, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers wing man, Stucky - Freeform, Time Jump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllonsyHelen/pseuds/AllonsyHelen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Bucky Barnes will not go home with any girl from Brooklyn to the Bronx. It only seems like that. However, he has standards. He has a signal. And most importantly, he has a reverse wingman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers: Reverse Wingman

Contrary to popular belief, Bucky Barnes will not go home with any girl from Brooklyn to the Bronx. It only seems like that. However, he has standards. He has a signal. And most importantly, he has a reverse wingman.

While Bucky can easily get any girl to giggle and blush with a wink or a coy head nod, Steve Rogers has significantly more trouble getting a girl to even look at him. He’s always been jealous of Bucky’s ease with other people – boys, girls, adults, children, anyone and everyone loves Bucky Barnes, and even though Steve knows jealousy isn’t a good quality to have… Well, that heartbreak smile and the long limbs and the happy eyes of his best friend and near constant companion make it hard to remember that green is an ugly color on him.

Bucky tells him all the time that one day a girl will look his way, _one day_  one will notice him and think he’s cute – _because you are cute, Stevie!_ – and she’ll listen to what he has to say, and she’ll be hooked immediately. _Hook, line, and sinker, baby,_ Bucky tells him, with a cocky grin, and Steve swallows back resentment for the grin that knows it can get the wearer just about anything.

This all isn’t to say that Steve hasn’t been on dates. Oh, he’s been on plenty, and maybe this is where his slight resentment bubbles up from. He’s always a fourth wheel – something he hadn’t thought even possible. It manages to always be BettyandLoisandBucky and Steve. Or MaryandSallyandBucky and Steve. Or, if Steve’s feeling annoyed or if he spots something better to do than sit and be ignored and he leaves, it’s just JaneandCatherineandBucky. No Steve.

One Friday night, Steve gets particularly annoyed because his date hasn’t even looked at him and she’s hanging all over Bucky, and yeah, Bucky can’t help it, but it’s annoying to see two people holding onto his arms, laughing outrageously at his jokes (and it’s ridiculous that the three of them are on one side of the booth and Steve’s alone on his own side, the three of them facing him yet the only one ever looking at him is Bucky). When one of the girls reaches below the table and Bucky’s eyes widen, it’s just too much for Steve. He scoots out of the booth quickly, mumbling that he has to use the bathroom, not making eye contact with Bucky – who’s the only one of them who noticed him get up. He hurries off to the small room in the back to wait a few minutes, then head outside to go back to their apartment. They’d only just bought it, a little shoebox in a loud building filled with Italians who shout and make delicious food and whose children keep showing up to give Steve little presents – a cool rock they’ve found in the courtyard between buildings, a shoestring (which he had to give back when the mother of the little boy who had given it to him came knocking), a broken bottle. Bucky’s rarely there for this kind of thing – during the day he’s always at work, and Steve only works when he can, which isn’t all that often because even when he’s well enough to work, nobody can afford to pay, and when they’re looking for somebody, Steve’s too ill.

As he leans against the bathroom wall, taking deep breaths, listening to the quick thump of his own heart and the muffled sounds of the jukebox playing through the wall, he tries not to be angry with Bucky. It isn’t Bucky’s fault that he’s everything Steve wants to be. He’s tall, strong, healthy, handsome as all get out, with beautiful teeth and full lips and a dip in his chin and dark eyelashes… None of that is his fault, it was all just the luck of the draw. And Steve. Well. Steve’s scrawny and sickly and maybe he is funny and a great guy like Bucky says he is – _“You’re a great guy, Stevie, you’re my best guy! My best guy.”_ – but no one ever notices that. Nobody but the old ladies in his building who try desperately to fatten him up with food none of them can afford, and the grocer who lets him bag people’s groceries for a meager amount of pay and smiles fondly and sadly as he hands him some coins at the end of each day.

Steve’s trying desperately not to pity himself, chanting _You have a good life you’re a good person everything’s going great for you_ in his head, and losing to his own frustration – with himself, with Bucky for enjoying his own handsomeness and reaping the rewards all the time. He has to dodge out of here soon, walk home kicking rocks with his hands shoved in his pockets, hope he doesn’t run into anybody to give him trouble. He jumps about a half a meter when the door opens and Bucky rushes inside, closing it firmly behind him and leaning against it. He looks rumpled and Steve’s shocked.

“Buck-?”

“I need you to help me,” Bucky hisses. Steve just stares. “I need you to get me outta here. I don’t know how. Just. Please.” He looks desperate and before Steve can even respond, Bucky’s at the sink, splashing water on his face, waving his free hand wildly. “Think of something! Please! I owe you a million for this one, Stevie, please get us the fuck outta here?”

It’s the expletive that startles Steve into action – Bucky doesn’t usually curse around him, or anywhere but the Navy Yard. Steve knows he’s learning some real fantastic swears over there and dirtying those full, tender lips, but he tries to keep it clean with Steve, not because he thinks Steve can’t handle it but because maybe he wants to play at kids again. Adults swear. Adults who have no money and no work and too many responsibilities. Steve and Bucky aren’t adults and they aren’t broke – or at least, Bucky tries his hardest to keep up that illusion. Not swearing is a way to hold tight to an innocence he knows is gone.

“I could pretend to be sick,” Steve suggests, and Bucky nods, pulling up his shirt to wipe his face on it. Steve’s eyes wander to his stomach and quickly back up again.

“Yeah. Yeah and I can say I have to take you home.” He gets a knowing look in his eye; he knows how much Steve hates to admit weakness, and this is fake but Bucky still worries. “You sure you don’t mind that?”

Steve waves a hand. “Not like I’m losin’ anything here.”

Bucky frowns but he knows it’s true. “Okay. Let’s go.” He wraps an arm around Steve like he does when Steve’s too weak to walk on his own. It feels familiar.

They walk out of the bathroom, Steve doing his best to look ill, and they go up to their booth. “Sorry, ladies,” Bucky says in a deeper voice than he was just using in the bathroom, “I’ve gotta take him home, he isn’t feelin’ so well.”

And the girls both frown and one opens her mouth and the other nudges her, and they just nod. Before they actually say anything, Steve and Bucky are turning and walking away, out of the diner, into the February air. Bucky lets go and Steve straightens up as soon as they round the corner, and they’re silent for a moment before Bucky starts laughing. Steve laughs a little too, because it’s kind of funny. Bucky’s got his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket and he swings his elbow a little to hit Steve’s.

“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “That was. Wow.”

“What happened?” Steve asks, curious what could make Bucky Barnes so frantic to get out of there.

“Well, the second you left, MaryJo started whisperin’ in my ear what she wanted me to do to her. And it was the most explicit thing I ever heard, I wanted to take soap and wash out her mouth for her. Hearin’ a lady talk like that. I mean, I have no problems doin’ it… But to hear a lady talk about it?” He shook his head. “And there was no tenderness there at all. It was like she was readin’ it from one of those magazines. It was all, _push me against a wall, throw me on the bed, ram your,_ well, you know, and she used words I only ever heard in the Yard. But then Rose starts feeling me under the table, you know, again, and I’m gettin’ a little excited and feelin’ not at all like a gentleman, and I’m like, I can’t take both of ‘em home. That ain’t right. They’re sisters. So I had to get out of there. Just made me feel panicked. You know?”

Steve definitely doesn’t know, and his eyes are wide at the story. The thought that a girl would say that stuff – to _Bucky_ – was incredible. “Wow. Where you think she got it from?” He wouldn’t know what to say if he wanted to _describe_ it. He’d be too embarrassed, especially since he’s never done it.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, and he grins over at Steve. “Pretty impressive, actually, makes me admire her a little.”

“Yeah you really looked like you admired her when  you were runnin’ scared,” Steve teases.

“I wasn’t scared of her!” Bucky exclaims, and though he can’t see it in the dim light of the sidewalk, Steve can tell he’s blushing. He just _knows_.

“You were scared,” Steve confirms. “But it’s okay, buddy. Everybody has fears.”

“I just don’t like when they’re too forward, makes me uncomfortable,” Bucky says with a little pout. “You’d be uncomfortable too.”

“Nobody’s ever forward with me at all,” Steve says, and Bucky makes a _humph_ noise.

Later, when they’re lying in bed – sharing, because mattresses are expensive, even springy ones like this one – Steve says, “I’ll rescue ya every time a girl makes you uncomfortable, Buck.” He’d rather pretend to be sick a hundred, a thousand times over, than Bucky have to sit and feel uncomfortable.

Bucky sighs softly, his eyes closed, but Steve knew he was awake because he can feel it, somehow, inside himself, Bucky’s energy. “Okay,” he says, and it ends up being a serious moment, though Steve had half been joking.

***

The following month, Bucky goes out seven times and brings three of his dates home. Steve has to pretend to be asleep on the couch in the living room with his sketchbook on his stomach, as if he fell asleep by accident, as if he was so tired that nothing will wake him up now. Bucky and the girl tiptoe by him, each time, the girl giggling a little and Bucky shushing her, but he’s usually laughing too, and then Steve listens to the rhythmic movement of the springs in the next room, hears them getting progressively faster, and doesn’t think about it. He keeps his eyes closed, as if warding off the thoughts he knows he should not be having at all. He shouldn’t be jealous. Bucky’s not supposed to hold off from being with girls because Steve’s never gotten one to look at him. Because Steve’s scrawny as hell and would probably break if he tried any of that mattress-squeaking stuff. Fortunately he never gets the chance to. It’s always Bucky.

And Bucky sounds like he’s enjoying it. Steve can tell from the light in his eyes the next morning and the way his hair sticks up. The girls usually sneak back out when they’re finished, and Bucky comes out and covers Steve on the couch with a blanket. Once, he hovers there above Steve for a long time. Steve counts it out – 136 seconds Bucky stands above him after seeing the girl out the door, and then he touches his shoulder so lightly that Steve can tell himself he imagined it, and goes into the bedroom.

However, there are times when girls want to go home with Bucky and they simply won’t take no for an answer. Bucky’s taken to asking Steve along on his dates, but to sit separate from them, in a booth across the diner or trailing a few meters back at Coney Island. They come up with a signal – Bucky will reach up, run a hand through his hair, and then scratch the bridge of his nose if he feels uncomfortable. At this, Steve will rush over, looking frantic, and tell Bucky he needs to get home, there’s an emergency. Sometimes he gets specific and they have a little fun – _“It’s your dog!” “Oh_ geez _did she get stuck in the oven again?” “Yup, and it’s gettin’ hot!”_ – and sometimes he doesn’t. Bucky’s always grateful and buys him candy on the way home, joking with him, telling him Steve’s a better date than that girl, telling him he’s his best guy, all sorts of things that Steve has to be careful not to misinterpret. For his own sake as well as Bucky’s.

After one such time, Steve asks Bucky why he ever feels uncomfortable. He can’t imagine being upset by a dame’s advances. “Well,” Bucky says, stopping to lean against a brick building, kicking his foot back, looking over at Steve. Steve knows he’d take out a cigarette right now if it wouldn’t give Steve trouble with his lungs. “Sometimes I feel like they want me for the wrong reasons. Maybe they just got over some boyfriend, or maybe they’re tryin’ to be defiant against their parents. If they’re bein’ naïve about it I feel guilty, I don’t wanna take some girl’s purity, ya know? I get that it’s their choice but it makes me feel bad. I don’t want ‘em to regret it. I don’t wanna use ‘em either. And if I feel like they aren’t ready I ain’t gonna do it. But sometimes they also look at me like I’m just somethin’ to have, some distraction from hunger or cold or whatever, and I hate feelin’ like that.” He lolls his head to the side to look at Steve directly. “I dunno. I got standards, Stevie, you surprised?”

Steve shakes his head quickly. “Of course I’m not surprised, Buck,” he says sincerely (he’d rib him but it’s such a serious moment and Bucky’s being so honest that he can’t). He’d never thought about it like that, really, never gotten past wanting a girl to notice him. Of course he’d never take advantage of them  and he would never want to make someone feel guilty. There were men who weren’t worth near a quarter of what Bucky was. He was so good. “You’re such a good person.” He nudges him in the ribcage with his elbow.

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, guess so,” he says, but Steve thinks he maybe doesn’t truly think that. While Steve knows he’s a good person, he worries about his inadequacies in other ways, things on the outside that keep people from giving him a chance. Bucky’s the opposite: he knows on the outside he’s charming, confident, attractive, but he worries about what’s on the inside, at the core.

He has no reason to worry. Steve knows that. But like Bucky telling him he’s handsome, it would mean nothing for Steve to tell him he’s good at his core and not to worry about it. And Steve can’t quite work out what words would push through Bucky’s exterior of lightheartedness and confidence to get to the middle, anyway.

***

Sometimes going on Bucky’s dates as the invisible third wheel of a bicycle built for two is a little boring. Steve doesn’t mind it when Bucky gives the signal and he comes rushing over from another booth, where he’d sat, unseen, telling the waitress over and over that he’ll order in a little while when his date gets there. They can’t afford for him to have an actual meal – Bucky can barely afford to feed these dates, and Steve isn’t about to bring up that maybe he shouldn’t be taking dames out all the time and buying them dinner when the two of them are halfway to starving most of the time. He knows what Bucky would say – it gives him a feeling of normalcy and that’s very important, and Steve knows it’s true. He even agrees a little. It is normal. If Bucky can afford to take a girl out, everything is fine. Sometimes as they’re heating up the beans for supper, Bucky gives Steve an apologetic look, says, “Maybe I don’t have to take MaryAnn out to the movies tonight…” and Steve always shakes his head and says, “Pal, you know we’d both go stir-crazy if we sat in here like two poor rats all night.” And Steve’s not Bucky’s gal, it’s not like it’s Bucky’s job to provide for him. Not like it’s Steve Bucky should be taking out. But on the occasions when Steve does have to pay to get in on Bucky’s dates – if it’s a movie they’re seeing, or if a waitress is absolutely insistent he eat something – Bucky foots the bill. And Steve doesn’t protest too much.

When Bucky decides he’s going to take the girl home, or go home with her, he reaches up and deliberately fixes his collar, then taps his own shoulder, the signal for, You can go home now. And Steve gets up and leaves, walks home by himself, hands in his pockets, shoes scuffing loose gravel on the sidewalk, feeling lonely as hell and jealous to boot. Jealous of Bucky, of course. Jealous of Bucky. Because not once has any of Bucky’s dates noticed him as he hoofs it along nearby; Steve’s invisible. Bucky says it’s a special skill when Steve complains, but he’s just trying to put a bright spin on it, and he’s failing.

Bucky doesn’t always go out though. Some weekends he’s too tired, and weeknights are reserved for Steve. They sit up in their tiny apartment, laughing and looking at comics and old books they’ve already read dozens of times. Sometimes they go to the diner and convince the waitress who’s sweet on Bucky to turn up the radio so they can listen to a program or two. Sometimes they lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling, and Bucky’s foot knocks against Steve’s ankle and Steve kicks him away with a laugh. Sometimes Steve’s sick; sometimes he’s not. Sometimes Bucky’s in a bad mood from work and he throws things and shouts about work, and Herbert Hoover, and money, but Steve’s never scared of him. Not of him. For him. Some nights Bucky finds Steve in an alley sporting bruises on his face, and he sighs and tells him he’s an idiot, before helping him home and cleaning him up.

The tenderest moments don’t come when Bucky’s touching a wet rag to Steve’s face and pursing his lips in concern, and Steve’s looking right in his eyes but Bucky’s gaze is fixed to what he’s doing, an inch beneath Steve’s left eye, or his lip, or his chin, split wide open by a face-first fall. No. The tenderest moments come unexpectedly like the intake of air to Steve’s lungs after an asthma attack: Bucky coming in the door whistling, tossing Steve some coins, saying, “The tide’s a-turnin’, Stevie!”; Bucky leaning in close across the table to whisper some exciting piece of gossip he’s heard that’s too delicate for normal voices, even here in their apartment; the brush of shoulders as they walk close, brusque in winter chill or wavering summer heat.

So the evenings of the two of them are good. There are also evenings where they spend time with friends from the neighborhood, kids who grew up together but are now stuck just outside the doors of childhood, which the recession has shut firmly behind them. No one’s really a kid anymore at all. Not even children. And much less so Steve and Bucky. It’s especially apparent when Steve hears the rhythmic creaking of the springs under Bucky’s mattress, and when Bucky comes home dirty from whatever work he found. They’re growing up. And Steve can see the crease in Bucky’s forehead from across the diner as he plays with his own menu; he watches Bucky’s eyes light up with laughter at something his date said; only to return back to their natural state of worry.

And so the rhythm goes, SteveandBucky, JosephineandBucky and Steve, or, disastrously, MaryandKathyandBucky and Steve. And so weekends pass, one by one, and months go by and years and then Bucky’s headed off to basic training.

***

The night before Bucky leaves, he has the ill-advised idea to go on a date. Steve tells him he doesn’t think he should. But he’s nothing against the rush of fear in Bucky’s veins that are pushing him to do something to distract himself. Bucky heads out alone – with Steve dutifully trailing half a block behind – with Alice. They go to see a movie and Steve sits two rows behind and to the right, so he can see Bucky’s signal. A reel about the war plays first, and some people in the theater clap. Bucky actually leans back and glances at Steve, who forces a smile, but in this moment he feels so unbelievably small, helpless, and unwanted, that he hates himself immensely for it. Bucky knows. He’s trying to make sure he’s okay. Steve knows that if he were to give even the slightest sign of distress, Bucky would be up and dragging Steve out of the theater and telling him in the lobby, again, how there’s so much he can do Stateside to help the cause, and he’s better off, and safer, and all the girls in New York will want him!

The movie starts and Steve doesn’t watch it at all. He’s staring at Bucky’s face. Memorizing it. This isn’t the last time he’ll see him, because he’s just going to Basic and then he’ll be back to Brooklyn to wait for his orders. Still. It feels like he’s slipping away by the minute. He has been for awhile, ever since the war broke out in Europe and Steve knew, he just knew, that it was coming. The inevitable separation. Because war would come to America or America would go to the war, and the army would love Bucky Barnes and they’d pass over skinny little Steve Rogers. He could lie to the government and say he’s from Poughkeepsie but he can’t lie to himself and say he’s not too weak for the war.

As Steve watches Bucky with his arm around some girl on the last night they have together, jealousy becomes less of a latent feeling and more of a living monster inside of him. Maybe Alice is really nice, but Steve hopes she isn’t. He hopes Bucky will give him the signal and Steve will get to rush over, grab Bucky’s arm, deliver some horribly urgent “news,” and get to leave with Bucky. They’ll go out into the night and back to the apartment and sit on the floor and talk until one of them falls asleep. They’ll get up in the morning and Bucky will leave.

But he’ll come back. This time, at least, that’s certain.

Steve’s stomach is in knots as he watches them, and then there’s anger, and before he knows it he’s getting up and walking to the aisle and then down, unnoticed by Bucky or Alice. He walks to where Bucky is and taps his shoulder. He turns in surprise and confusion. “What?” he whispers, expression turning to concern.

“You have to come home. Your brother’s sick,” Steve says. It’s not even a good lie. It’s not even well-delivered. Doesn’t matter.

Bucky looks like he’s trying to figure out if he accidentally did the signal without meaning to. Alice is frowning.

“Come on!” Steve says again, pulling at Bucky’s arm, and Bucky stands.

“Uh. I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and people behind them complain loudly.

Alice starts to get up but Bucky shakes his head. “No, stay,” he says with a charming smile. “I’ll call on ya after Basic.”

He’s smooth and Steve hates it. He tugs on his arm harder and they’re out in the aisle, then up and through the doors, out of the theater.

“What was that?” Bucky asks once they’re in the lobby.

“I’m not spendin’ my last night with you starin’ at the back of your ugly head!” Steve exclaims. “I get that it may be fun for you but I’m tired of sittin’ around while you’re on a date!”

“I thought you didn’t mind it!” Bucky’s honestly surprised, and Steve can’t be mad at him for long, so he has to get it all out now before the feeling passes.

“I just said that, Buck! And I really don’t mind most times, sometimes it’s kinda fun, like bein’ a spy, but not tonight! Not your last night!”

“This ain’t my last night, Steve.” Bucky’s voice is sharp.

“It feels like it, okay?” Steve is walking toward the door out of the building, onto the street. Bucky follows.

“It’s just training!” Bucky says, and it sounds a little like pleading.

“Yeah but it’s not. It’s not _just_ training, it’s you going to learn how to fight, and me stayin’ home. It’s just one of the _thousands_ of times you get to go do what I want to do but I can’t because I’m too weak! I try not to hate you for it, Buck, but you get the girls and you get to fight and those are two things I’ve always wanted that I can’t have. Okay? And excuse me but I want to spend some time with you for our last night together before you change.”

Bucky’s expression is hard throughout, but at the end, his eyes become sad. “Before I change?” he asks.

Steve’s shoulders sag. “Before you realize I’m just a little guy from Brooklyn. Too dumb to walk away from a fight. And I want to go charging into this one right at your six.”

Bucky shakes his head, almost laughing. “Wouldn’t be you at my six, buddy,” he says. “You’d be leading the whole damn operation if you were there.”

Steve’s eyes narrow but he’s not angry anymore, not barely. “I have to spend our last night with you. I don’t know if you don’t care or what but I was kinda hopin’ you might not mind me pullin’ you away from your date. I don’t-” _want to spend another night alone listening to bed springs._ “Please.”

Bucky frowns deeply, his eyes piercing. “You think I don’t care?” he demands. “You think that, Steve? You really are too dumb if you think that I don’t care. I hate that things are changin’. I wish it could be just like this, all the time. I’d go hungry every day for a hundred years for it to stay like this always, ‘cause it’s just gonna get worse before it gets better, and I have a feelin’ it’s gonna be a lot worse. ‘Cause you won’t be around. I’ll leave my family, my ma, it’ll hurt, yeah, my friends, okay, shit, but you? Takin’ you from me feels like somebody’s removing my damn arm.” He gestures to his left shoulder. “And I can’t deal with that. Not yet.” A pause. “It’s just Basic.”

Steve pulls in his lip, bites it. Plays Bucky’s words over again in his head. “Okay,” he says finally. “No goodbyes tonight.”

Bucky nods, satisfied, and slings an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “No goodbyes,” he repeats.

***

When Bucky gets his orders, he tells Steve they’re going out for a double date. Steve tries to hide his disappointment, especially since he made it pretty clear before Basic that he wanted to spend time with Bucky before he left, but he knows this is Bucky’s way of spending time with Steve. And Bucky’s different anyway, and he’s trying his damnedest to hide it, but he’s more unhinged than Steve’s ever seen him. He’s gotten a taste of what he’ll have to do, and the worst part? He’s good at it. “I’m fuckin’ good at it,” he said when he told Steve he’s already a Sergeant.  There was no emotion behind the words, but the words were all Steve needed.

So when Bucky says he wants a double date, Steve’s not going to fight him. The old Bucky’s already gone. Probably forever. Doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t like the new one just as much; it’s just a little different, and he doesn’t have time to get to know him before he’s leaving again. If it makes Steve sad, it must make Bucky sadder. So he agrees to a double date.

He dutifully holds the popcorn and watches Bucky for the signal, which he doesn’t give, though Steve hopes he will. He knows he won’t, but he hopes anyway. Bucky likes the girls, and the girls like Bucky. There’s no reason they shouldn’t have a good time while Steve walks around just behind them, even though this is a date he’s supposed to be a part of.

He’s glad when he sees a distraction and heads off toward the enlistment area, giving Bucky a spare glance to make sure he’s okay. He seems to be. But there aren’t words Steve could use to make him better if he isn’t. So he walks away instead, trusting that Bucky knows what he needs right now.

And they say goodbye.

And so it goes.

***

After the incident with Peggy in her hip-hugging red number ignoring Bucky in the bar, Bucky apparently feels like he’s got something to prove. “I’m not turnin’ invisible, Steve, I ain’t gonna sit by and watch myself fade away when it comes to the dames,” he says stubbornly the next night, after a day of debriefing and interminable meetings where Steve could feel Bucky fidgeting next to him, and he knows how uncomfortable he must be. But Steve can’t get him out of this one. This must simply be endured.

“You’re not gonna fade away, Buck, but you’ve been out there for a long time, you need to relax-” Steve’s insisting, when Bucky’s eyes slide from his and onto, presumably, some woman behind Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, standing, and Steve actually sticks out an arm and grabs onto Bucky’s wrist, imploring him to look at him again. Slowly, Bucky does.

“Please, just have a drink or two then let’s just go home, call it a night!” He’s supposed to be meeting with Peggy in an hour for business, but he can’t tell if it’s official or not. He doesn’t really care. Even when she speaks in the clipped tone of an officer, Steve’s heart pounds wildly. It’s moments when she lets loose and laughs, or touches his arm, that make him feel like he’s going insane. And the lipstick isn’t the only reason. Peggy’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and she actually seems to be interested in him. This would be the best thing in the world on its own, but the fact that she knew him when he was skinny and running a hundred yards behind everyone else at Basic, knows his body was fabricated by science, and still laughs at his bad jokes… He really couldn’t be happier. Even if he’s in London, a city that crouches in the dark and waits to be blown into pieces, and the war is right outside the door of the pub, things couldn’t be better. Peggy wants to go dancing. Bucky is alive and right here. And he isn’t about to let his best friend self-destruct with some dame he doesn’t even know when the man is clearly bursting at the seams, ready to fall apart.

“Nope,” Bucky says, pulling his wrist free. “I need to do this, Steve, I’m Bucky Barnes.” He attempts a cocky smirk and Steve understands, suddenly, what he’s trying to do.

“You’re still Bucky Barnes without chasing after dames,” Steve says to Bucky’s back.

“Says who?” Bucky asks, not looking at Steve. His voice is muffled by the noise of the pub.

“Says me,” Steve replies, and he reaches to touch Bucky’s shoulder but Bucky’s walking away too quickly, over to the woman. He smiles and puts his hand on the small of her back, leading her to a booth, nodding and laughing at something she’s said.

And Steve goes into autopilot. He turns his stool enough that he can see Bucky and the woman he’s sitting with. His shoulders sag a little, like the body knows it isn’t right for this job anymore and wants to become smaller, more appropriate. Steve sips his beer. It’s warm.

Bucky’s movements aren’t right. He isn’t at ease. Not quite laughing. Steve’s brow creases in worry and he tries not to think about HYDRA and what they did to him on that table. No one ever came back from that room, the men told him. Why not? How long would Buck have lasted before his body was in the furnace, burning like the others? And what did they die of? Starvation? Dehydration? Was it on purpose or were they experimenting on them, and failing?

Steve has a thousand questions but he won’t ask Bucky any of them. He doesn’t want to make him relive it any more than he already has to in order to give his reports. The unit’s heading out soon, the ragtag team he put together and spent all day begging Colonel Phillips to approve – he doesn’t care that there are multiple non-Americans and minorities, they’re perfect for the job. They’re already a team. Bucky backed him up, attested to each of the men’s skills, and together they wore Phillips down into agreeing. Bucky had almost seemed like himself, then, wheedling the man, forgetting to be respectful and getting away with it because he had been a POW who had undergone some sort of torture/experimentation and if it had been up to Phillips, Bucky’d be dead or still in that room, on that table. Maybe it’s partly guilt that gets him to agree, in the end. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Steve can hear the rowdy singing of the soon-to-be commando unit from across the pub, but he doesn’t join them. He’s got to watch Bucky. Got to wait for the signal he isn’t sure will ever come. Does Bucky know he’s watching? He hasn’t looked over, not even once. Maybe he doesn’t know the rules still apply here. It hurts to think that maybe he’s forgotten the signal, since so much has happened.

Steve’s thinking about this, sipping his beer for lack of anything better to do, and his eyes flick away behind the rim of his glass for a moment so that he almost misses when Bucky reaches up and combs through his hair, absently. Steve’s gaze fixes upon him instantly, lowering the glass. Bucky pauses before making another movement, his hand moving up as if someone else is dragging it but he’s straining against the movement, and he scratches his nose.

Steve’s out of his chair immediately and over by the booth, standing next to the table.

“Sergeant Barnes,” he says in a formal voice.

The woman giggles.

Bucky looks up at him with an unreadable expression. “Yes?”

“You’re needed at HQ,” Steve says.

Bucky nods slowly, looks at the woman. “Sorry,” he says. “You’ll have to forgive me. Captain’s orders, though.” He gestures to Steve and stands up. He walks away and Steve follows, glancing back to see the woman’s pout.

***

And that’s the last woman Bucky’s ever tried to be with. Steve stares at the rim of the glass in front of him, the rubble of the old pub around him. He’s come back to London to write up his report on Sergeant James Barnes’s death, and he can’t even get drunk to drown out the pain of it. But he’s going to try. The Commandos have left him to his grief, understanding that he needs time.

Maybe coming to the pub was a bad idea. All he can think about is Bucky, and the last time he ever helped him with a woman. He would trail Bucky on a million more dates if it meant Bucky was still alive. He’d listen to his quick breaths mixed with the squeak of the mattress springs a thousand more nights just to hear him breathing.

They’d visited towns where the other men had seduced or hired women to entertain them, but Bucky always preferred to sit with Steve at the fire or lay back in a tent or beneath the stars, staring up and talking idly about old Brooklyn things or made-up stories. Steve was relieved about this, though the old feelings of jealousy were gone. Or if not gone, muddied. His feelings for Peggy had dashed across them and they were different now. He wasn’t jealous anymore that women looked at Bucky, because thousands of women had looked at Captain America. They’d been giddy and gotten his autograph and taken photos with him. They’d gushed over how handsome he was. And Peggy. She was the first time anyone had ever been interested in him, genuinely interested in him romantically, and it made all the times he was jealous that Bucky got some girl to come home with him seem ridiculous. None of that had ever meant anything, it was clear. Bucky’d be the first to admit it. He rarely went with the same girl twice. It was just a way of passing the time, like playing a game, and Steve wondered if Bucky got any fulfillment from it at all. Peggy made Steve feel _fulfilled_ , and he’d never say it because it was corny as hell and Bucky would egg him for it. But it was true, and he’d wanted that for Bucky too. Something with meaning.

There is, however, some jealousy left, or at least, regret. Regrets about the time they could have had together that some girl or the other had stolen. He cringes now to think of how many more radio programs they could have listened to, how many more trips to Coney Island just the two of them they could have had, how many more movies they could have whispered through. If Bucky hadn’t been so damn obsessed with taking out dames all the time, he and Steve could have had so much more time together.

And it was all about time now. Throughout their time as the Howling Commandos, from Azzano to the train passing through the Alps, Steve knew there might not be much of it. Every time Bucky’s eyes saw the morning Steve thought how it might be the last. Every time Bucky crouched low and looked through his sights and gave the OK signal, Steve thought how easy it would be for the blood to stop pumping through his veins. And with it, all of the rushes of wonderful things in Steve’s life would stop. Peggy was angry with him and Bucky would be gone. And then what? Nothing but cold until it ended.

And now, Bucky is gone, and it's dark in Europe.

And so it goes, for interminable days, until Steve joins Bucky in the cold.

***

Because stories can never end in cold, they both wake up.

***

And in the end, it isn’t Steve who goes on the date with the girl with the lip piercing. Maybe he isn’t ready for it, but Bucky sure as hell seems to be. And Lillian, unsurprisingly, is very into cybernetic limbs. “A match made in Heaven,” as Natasha had said.

Steve’s not so sure.

It’s been three years since his dead best friend showed up in 2014 as a brainwashed assassin, and two since he tracked him down hunting HYDRA heads in Eastern Europe.  There have been a lot of super shitty nights since then – probably 75% of them are shitty, if Steve’s being honest, but the 25% that aren’t are like a miracle. Bucky is alive. They get to watch late-night tv together and learn new recipes that don’t involve boiling water. They have money to spare and an apartment big enough that Steve can’t press his palms against both walls at once like Bucky used to be able to do in their shoebox. Bucky’s therapy is decreased from daily to every three days to weekly, and the ratio of good nights to bad has evened out at 1:1. Bucky says he’s ready to date again, and Steve knows there’s nothing he can do to stop this particular wave from crashing. Natasha seems to think it’s an okay idea. (“He needs to associate with people who don’t know his past!” “He needs to associate with people who know his triggers!” “You can’t save him from every hurt, Steve, you’re going to kill yourself trying.” “Watch me try anyway.”)

At 6:00 on a Friday night, Bucky leaves to meet Lillian at a sushi place down the street, somewhere he, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Sam, and pretty much everyone else who has ever called themselves an Avenger, have been many times. As he leaves, Steve watches closely for any significant glances or extended eye contact that mean he wants Steve to follow him. He doesn’t see anything. But that doesn’t stop him from putting on his jacket at 6:05 to go to the restaurant and tuck himself discreetly into a booth out of Bucky’s line of sight.

Unfortunately, his plan is diverted slightly at 6:06 by Natasha, who arrives with a box of pizza in hand. She uses her key and grins as she walks in. “It’s like sending our baby off to kinderg-” she starts, but stops when she sees Steve in his brown leather jacket. She sighs. “What are you doing?” she asks. “Do you already have plans? Damnit, Rogers, I need you to help me finish this pizza!”

“Er.” Steve considers hedging but he’s antsy about the time. “I kind of have somewhere to be, yeah.”

“Where?” Natasha demands. “Is it Sam? I’ve invited him last minute, he’ll be here in a little while. You’re lucky Clint’s in Europe right now or he’d be here too, probably already eating two slices at once with his ass on your kitchen counter.”

“Uh.” Steve glances at the door. “Yeah, no, it’s not Sam, I have to go though. I’m sorry. You can use the apartment though!”

She gives him a strange look. “You’re offering to let Sam and I eat pizza in your apartment?” she asks. “What are your plans, what’s going on? Oh, _fuck_ , if it’s a mission I wasn’t invited on – I knew I shouldn’t have told Tony his suit makes him look a little fat, it’s just it really does and Pepper agrees but I bet she isn’t being punished.” Natasha’s pulling out her phone by the time Steve stops her.

“No! No, it isn’t a mission,” he says. “Well, I guess it sort of is. It’s an ongoing mission, you could say…”

“Ongoing?” Natasha quirks an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Oh. Uh. 1930?”

Natasha just stares at him. “What’s going on Steve? Does it have to do with Bucky?”

Steve crosses his arms. “It’s not your business.” He knows she’ll disapprove of this. She thinks Steve needs to let Bucky live his life. What she doesn’t know is that Steve’s back to feeling insanely fucking jealous of anyone Bucky shows interest in, and it’s 2017 now. Things are different. Everything is different. But how could she know about what he sees in Bucky’s eyes when they look at each other for too long? How could she know that when they’re sleeping in the same bed, they wake up in each other’s arms? How could she know how close they’ve come to holding hands, _kissing_ , dozens of times?

Which is why Steve wants to – _needs to_ – go see this date fail spectacularly, see Bucky fix his hair and scratch his nose and then Steve will run to his side and Bucky will realize—

“It is my business. Tell me,” Natasha demands, grabbing and twisting his arm back. Steve glares, determined. “Tell. Me. Or I’ll break it. You know I will.”

He does know it. “I have to go with him,” he says between gritted teeth.

“Why? It isn’t your date, you turned the Lillian offer down years ago.”

“It’s not _Lillian_ I need to go for,” Steve says, and Natasha lets go so suddenly that Steve’s arm recoils back. He hisses a little, annoyed with the pain and confession.

Natasha stares up at him. Blinks. And then. “What will you do?” she asks.

“I used to go on his dates with him, to uh, save him if it went wrong or something. I just feel like I need to do that now.”

Natasha’s giving him the discerning look she has, and the moment stretches on way too long before she finally takes out her phone and starts typing something. “I’ll tell Sam to meet us at the restaurant,” she says. “If you’re sure about this, and you’re not going to embarrass anyone.”

“I won’t even talk to him,” Steve assures her.

She gives him a knowing glance but doesn’t fight it. She just sets down the pizza, says, “Okay, let’s go then, you crazy motherfucker,” and is out the door.

 

Sam agrees to meet them at the sushi place, where Steve is pacing outside and craning his head to try to look in the window to see if he can spot Bucky and Lillian. He doesn’t understand why Bucky would go on a date with her. Does he really like her? Is he bored spending all his time with the same group of people – their friends? Does he want to branch off and have other friends? Does he not feel the same way Steve feels?

“You’re worrying, you’re obsessing, you’re _pacing_ , snap _out_ of it,” Natasha says after they’ve been outside the restaurant for seven minutes. “It’s fine! Stop freaking out, this is just a date. Most dates are one-time things. Lillian’s a nice girl, and she’s sharp as a whip, and I’d date her myself if I wasn’t spoken for already but – you don’t need to worry, quit pacing!” She sticks out an arm, which he runs into, and glares at him. “Quit it. Okay? It’s fine. You’ll be okay. But if you don’t elaborate and tell me what’s really, truly going on – the _full_ extent of it, not just some vague response to get me to let go of you – then I’ll torture it out of you. I will.”

“What’s this about torture?” Sam asks, arriving at exactly the moment Steve needed him to.

“Thank God you’re here,” Steve says, “now let’s go in. Come in. Let’s go.” He shepherds them both inside – and they allow him to, because he’s more keyed up than either of them has seen him in awhile – and he politely asks the hostess, “Ma’am, if there’s any way, could we choose our booth?”

She recognizes them and nods, eager to do a favor for Captain America, and motions to them to go in. “I’ll follow you,” she says.

“Thank you so much,” Steve replies, already walking in, deciding he’ll tip her especially well. Lillian and Bucky are sitting across from each other at a table. They haven’t gotten their sushi yet but their menus are gone, so they must have ordered. Steve can tell from the set of his shoulders that Bucky’s not entirely relaxed, but that doesn’t mean too much. Steve’s used to that – it’s situation normal for Bucky to be ‘not entirely relaxed.’ Steve gives great shoulder massages, though, and he knows  all the pressure points now. The rest of the team knows it and they all line up for him to massage them after missions. It’s adorable, actually, but Steve loves massaging Bucky the best because of the soft noises Bucky makes and the way he seems to melt back into Steve.

Steve is weighing the options of several booths when Lillian calls out, “Nat! Steve! Sam! Hey!”

Bucky turns. Steve’s cheeks redden. Natasha smiles wide like she’s incredibly amused. “Hey! Sorry, we’re not trying to crash your date or anything, Sam just had a sushi craving and this is so convenient.” She lies convincingly and Lillian believes it, but Steve’s looking at Bucky, and Bucky’s looking at Steve, and Steve can only tell from his expression that Bucky doesn’t buy Nat’s story. Steve can’t read anything else in his eyes.

He swallows hard and gives an awkward wave. “We aren’t interrupting. Sorry. Ignore us.” But that opens up the possibilities, at least, because now they don’t have to be discreet. Steve can sit anywhere he likes, just like in the old days when he was invisible, and he chooses the booth with the best view, where Lillian can’t see them but there’s a full view of Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t take advantage of the clear view between them.  Not once does he look at Steve. His eyes are for Lillian only, and with every passing moment, Steve’s heart sinks a little more. He’s not going to do the signal. He’s not interested in Steve. He wanted to go on a date, a real, genuine date. Steve’s ruining it by assuming that things are how they used to be. Bucky’s always been adamant that he’s different, that everything is different, and Steve’s tried not to give him any pressure to be the old Bucky.

Is this pressure?

He sinks lower and lower into his seat, barely paying attention to what’s happening at his own table. Natasha and Sam order, choosing something for him. The waitress gets his attention briefly by asking him to sign something, and he does, gives her a charming smile, and then looks back toward Bucky, hoping he didn’t miss the signal in that moment.

“So, man, this is a little weird,” Sam says after Bucky and Lillian have been served and have started to eat.

“Yeah?” Steve drags his eyes from Bucky for only a moment to glance at Sam, then it’s back to Bucky.

“It’s actually more than a little weird, I changed my mind. It’s weird as hell,” Sam continues, not minding that has barely even 20 percent of Steve’s attention.

Bucky is laughing softly. Steve can hear it from across the restaurant, though it’s not that loud, constructed in his ear from memory and what his enhanced hearing picks up beneath the ambient noises of cutlery against plates and voices murmuring.

“I agree,” Natasha says. “You said you used to go on dates with him…and save him? If it went wrong? Wasn’t that awkward? How many dates did he go on?”

“It wasn’t awkward, the girls never knew I was there,” Steve says distractedly. “I was pretty much invisible back then. Convenient, for that. Buck went out with lots of girls who thought he’d be easy to go home with and he didn’t always want to. We had a signal. He’d do it if he wanted me to come rescue him, you know, pretend I was coming to get him and needed him to come home quick.” Bucky’s talking now, with food in his mouth. It’s so _Bucky_ , past and present fused together into one.

Sam’s laughing. “So Bucky Barnes was New York’s little playboy?” he asks.

“Is that surprising?” Steve glances at him to see his highly amused expression.

“Not really, he is hot,” Natasha muses, and Steve cuts a glare at her.

“Hey,” he says warningly, and Sam makes an “A-ha!” noise.

“So that’s how it is!” he says, a little too loudly. Bucky has super hearing now too and Steve shushes him, though Bucky’s still talking and probably not listening.

“It’s not how it is,” Steve says, but he’s staring at Bucky and there’s no denying the facts, which are that he’s watching his best friend on a date with another person, with single-minded intensity.

“Oh it so is,” Sam says, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say more but he lets out a little yelp like he’s been elbowed in the ribs.

Natasha starts talking to Sam then about something else, a movie Steve hasn’t seen yet, and he’s still staring at Bucky, waiting. Bucky hasn’t looked at him at all. He doesn’t care that Steve’s there. They’re best friends, yes, but that’s all. Bucky is enjoying this date with some girl he doesn’t even know, a girl who’s probably very nice and has great things to say but who doesn’t know what it was like to live from dime to dime, eating bread and beans and soup, in a New York that seems very far away from the one they live in now. It was a different place. Steve was a different person. Bucky’s the only one who knows the little spitfire who fought the bullies on the street and lied on enlistment forms so he could stand up to more bullies. With his memories returning at a rapid pace, Bucky knows more and more about Steve, comes up with new memories to talk about every day, and it’s like seeing the sun rise every time.

Steve’s in love with him. He knows enough now to know that. He knows that he can love men and women. He didn’t get to live his life with Peggy, but he could still get the chance with Bucky.

And Bucky’s eating sushi with a girl who doesn’t even know the way the window in their bedroom stuck in the heat, and how to haggle down the price of two apples at the grocer’s, and that the Berkowitzes’ dog used to bite.

Steve's just lost hope in everything when Bucky licks his fingers after finishing his last roll, and absentmindedly runs his right hand through his hair, then scratches the bridge of his nose.

Steve nearly shouts for joy. He jumps up, jostling the table with his knees, ignoring Sam and Natasha’s surprise. He runs over to where Bucky and Lillian are sitting, and Bucky looks up with wide eyes, surprised, innocent.

“Fury just called,” he says. “We have to go in. Emergency meeting.”

“Oh,” Bucky says slowly. “Okay. Sorry, Lillian.” He gives her an apologetic look and she frowns up at Steve. Bucky stands up and the two of them fast-walk out of the restaurant.

Lillian turns around and looks at Sam and Natasha, who just shrug. Natasha waves her over to come join them while they finish their own rolls. Maybe if Lillian’s lucky, they’ll let her in on some of their fun.

Once outside, Steve lets out a laugh of relief and adrenaline. “Wow, Buck,” is all he can say, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You complete moron,” he says. “I really was worried you wouldn’t show. You were late. You’ve never been late for a date before.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something but Bucky shakes his head quickly. "Not here," he says, and pulls Steve by the wrist to the nearest alley so they can stand and talk without being jostled by the crowd of people on the sidewalk.

“You were late,” Bucky repeats.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to come.”

“You’re my wing man! Or. My…reverse wing man, I guess,” Bucky says, “why the hell wouldn’t you come?”

“You didn’t say anything-”

“What, just because it’s been 70-some years you thought you were off the hook?” Bucky demands.

“No, I thought you didn’t want me to come!”

“Well why the fuck wouldn’t I?” Bucky’s laughing. “Jesus, Steve!” He’s delighted. He’s so happy, Steve wants to take out a piece of paper and draw the look on his face before it disappears.

“I just thought you really liked her,” Steve says.

“I don’t even know her! And she was clearly just into me because she feels sorry for me.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“That’s not true-” Steve starts to protest.

“It is,” Bucky interrupts. “Good intentions but…damn. I don’t need that.”

There’s a silence for a moment before Steve says, “So…you’re glad I was there?”

“Yeah, I’m glad,” Bucky confirms with a nod and a light in his eyes.

“Okay, well, your next date, I’ll be there,” Steve promises, though he hates the idea of watching Bucky on yet another date.

Bucky frowns for a moment and Steve can see the uncertainty in his eyes for just a moment before Bucky hides it. "Well, my next date, you know, I was sorta hopin’…you’d be sittin’ across from me. You know. At the same table.”

Steve’s about to say, _Like a double date?_ when Bucky quickly cuts him off. “And not on a double date, idiot, just a date, you and me. Tomorrow. Lunch, because I can’t wait till dinner but I ain’t gettin’ up early for breakfast.”

And then he turns away and waltzes right out of the alley, leaving Steve standing there, staring after him, in awe of the person that is and always has been Bucky Barnes.

It takes him ten whole minutes to get over his shock.

 

Later, Steve asks, “If you were just on the date to see if I’d show up then why the hell did you wait so long before you did the signal?”

And Bucky replies, “The sushi was damn delicious, Steve, I didn’t want it to go to waste. My mama raised me better than that.”

**Author's Note:**

> A note: the first part of this occurs in the early 1930s during the Depression, when Steve’s 24-25 ish. He and Bucky live on their own at this point. I have a somewhat obsession with Great Depression Stucky so this is half-exploring that, and I wanted to say to the haters out there who say they wouldn’t have been able to afford to live together and would have lived with Bucky’s family, yeah you’re probably right… But where would this au be if that were the case? Nowhere. So suspend your disbelief and maybe Mr. Barnes called in a favor or Bucky moved into the apartment Steve and Sarah had before she died or something. Thank you.


End file.
